concerning my libido

if it’s a deep kiss you want
let’s do it
my feet left the floor
last month
in anticipation of this moment
xxx warning xxx
my desire outweighs my conscience
for this reason
I sometimes neglect the morning newspaper
don’t want to risk a good feel

while luxuries abound in my life
how rotten am I
worrying about
a kiss
a caress
my libido
in worldly places
where breathing moments are precious

passionate dalliances are often secured
by fashionista souls treading upon Pietra Firma tile
and silk bodies illuminated beneath chiseled sconces
so tonight
lips will ripen
with fine red wine
matching tapered candles lit
but not one faith-bearing votive
will glow in service

I Naturally/mixed media

art-from college way back, corporate identity class


man from yesteryear

a poor man’s yarn
windswept treatises
raw’ed his bones but gave him strength
this man possessed no bucket
if owned such a tin cap–its contents would have been soil not lists
earth from the earth as planted
resolved to nurture a determined forest
this portrait
this man
a father might tell his son about
a daughter–not even a warning
honorable and intended
eyes true
thoughts lustful grey not clean (he a man)
but hands in control
for sowing of the soil
I think
in my cap
by the scarred wrought iron pot lumbering over the fire
you would have loved this man
trusted him
down to his raw’ed bones
cropped Squanto


all that time
she’d been adrift
wings on spinning thermals
never searching
but secretly looking
for validation

never wanting to find
a man
who would see her
as the someone she feared most
a nearly complete person
with no understanding of themselves
and compassion for too many

  when her over involvements
left him out
he watched from afar

this woman
was someone to be near
even when she was not present

to this day
whenever she returns
to those
reflecting pools
in his warm eyes
she sees and believes
she deserves

most especially

Autumn Leaves

 “I do” put Keith on the fast track to Crazy Town
with a show tune singing maniac;)
(for my husband)

she is also a monster

who is the smiling face there
not hers
she sees the lights
skimming an ever-changing landscape
mutations to earthbound patterns
the mind on the mountain
the brain in the badlands
the soul on the summit
the heart in the hollow

no one knows
of the endless slow burn beneath the ground
she does
those monsters have whispered things to her
the crazy lady with the lopsided eyes
and those hair-brained beasts
are bound together
ocean to sand
mountain to cloud
jungle to vine
for when she loves
on this earth

she loves fiercely
and in this category
she is also a monster

homage to Moreau

 I’d like to thank each and every one of you for reading, commenting, viewing or just stopping by. I appreciate the kindness more then I can lamely express here. I’m sorry if I sometimes seem to read a bit darkly, making you somber is never my intent. The truth is I never know what is going to transmit until I begin writing. I’m sometimes surprised what translates between head and fingers. I’ve been called crazy from time to time and I don’t mind, because I believe this evaluation to be partially true;)

a dirge from beneath the dirt

hand printif it’s a winged effigy you want
a dirge from beneath the dirt
of someone
who tried to be someone
she died attempting to leap
through Saturn’s hoops
but the man in the moon
was not the gentleman he was purported to be
that guy plays a tripping low lit thief
stealing each day a bit more
whenever the sun grows tired
honor-bound roses
placed with tearful lips

(you know how she feels about flowers)
odiferous funeral parlors
thorny squatters on her cold headstone
with the audacity to die on the already dead
blood crimson of their selected petals
slapping her corpse with hues no longer pumping
she is most certainly a shade of soft blue by now
like the daytime sky
even at night

if she had lived her life
as a someone
her body would have been preserved
and all this could have been avoided
print back
bye, bye blackbird


puppet masters

pear fingersit was a view with a room
a little bed for big people
we went in through an out door
our naked clothing
did nothing to conceal the thread of lies
weaving our blackout curtains
we weren’t supposed to be on stage
a fortune cookie approved this union
it was all the validation two horny people needed
it began that way
for us
(lust) no intent of love
it was Paris
(not really)
we didn’t make it there
barely afforded the motel rooms
with bad prints of old fruit
acting French
or at least kissing that way
the only way lovers should kiss
is what got us into trouble
our wet mouths
proffered up Paris
(and trouble)
the kissing was sublime
better than eating Chinese noodles off each other
fell into the rice vat, lid shut
a bottomless pressure cooker
we required many strings
enough to fabricate thick blackout curtains
more to manipulate the fingered dowels
forcing our daytime mouths into slick sentences
we desperately needed to create a successful act
on this plastic puppeteer stage of ours

preordained conclusions

allow me some sky
to fly over myself
all the talking eyes
usurp paths around my fantastical places
I can’t hear myself think
here on the ground
the voices are too many
broken harmonies and
attachments to preordained conclusions
cannot be whipped away
by my threadbare occupation
I was meant to fix things
I’m a fixer
not lately though
my things seem to be pulling apart
flying overhead
my body and yours
will free my blocked salvos
kind salvos
I’m supposed to be deliriously dependable
even when my arms are tired
from all the holding
self-indulgences, you bet
I’m not all that decent

that skin of hers

to get beneath that skin of hers
and force it perfect
I need her to understand
she is beautiful
I need her to see her entirety
to stop doing
what young girls do
not love themselves completely
permit shiny surfaces
and slick ink
to render their forms inferior

these cultures of ours
composed of humanity
but populated by shallow eyes
and deep pockets
should not so easily crawl
into young ears like robotic insects
and sting frail esteem
these young girls are all breathtaking
if we give them some space

they could stop hiding below hard water
and come up for air

if they gaze beyond
how blue the sky can be

Caroline Hands Crossed

Caroline Hands Crossed

harnessing passions

I’ve been storing my passions like solar panels
harnessing energy, converting urges

I’m ready for you
don’t know
if you’re ready
for the ‘lights’ of me
I was many years in the shadows
until the spectrum generated by your proximity
burned away the blackness

I’m not quite myself
turning on and off as flippant as a switch

you are the only one
I can drink alone to in a darkened room
for now

bittersweet cocktails are a conduit
to your skin cells
unload my impulses in liquified amber
swallowing the static burn

I can’t keep losing power like this
in fact, I’m quite sure
if I don’t take you by storm and soon
there’s not much time remaining
before my charged bolt fades
and I am forced to fumble back into
some dead fold

Warrior Lashes

Warrior Lashes

glass teeth

island pirate mask warmwords meticulously cultivated
thoughts dribble sideways in
blood ink
coagulate on pulp
thin dressing on a deep wound
no thoughtful phrases beat
sorrow back
no meditation releases
terminal exasperation
of the flesh
of the mind
of the spirit

it is to be a journey then
off to the forest
where nothing will bother you
unaffected by mortal issues
trees are preoccupied with synthesizing
morning ’til evening
the moss will suck up your footprints
but when the leaves crash down
you must run to the ocean
or be exposed
water head-rushing into itself
perpetual frothing
sunrise to sunset
billions of glass teeth
willing to open up
and swallow you whole
and if they do
you’ll never make it
to the mountains
the desert beyond